Credo tibi, Meus Magister
by Normandie M
Summary: After the final defeat of Voldemort, Snape decides to leave Hogwarts for good. In doing so, he might just find the one thing that could both redeem and ruin him. R/R!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I wish Snape belonged to me (who doesn't, I ask you!), but he belongs to JK Rowling  
A/N: This is a prologue to my new fic. The title is latin, and translated, it's 'I believe in you, my teacher'. I warn you, this may get slightly graphic in later chapters, and it deals with Snape and a student in a romantic relationship. If you don't like it, then it's probably adviseable you don't read it. If you're interested, do review though, and constructive criticism is always welcomed.  
  
'Credo Tibi, Meus Magister'  
By Normandie M  
  
Prologue  
  
It was an idyllic setting, he had to admit. A beach at sunset. And it looked especially beautiful from his viewpoint at the top of the cliffs. This would be the last he saw of Britain for a while....  
  
The war was over. The sacrifices were made, the victories won.  
And he was among the ones still standing. Lord knows why I was spared, he thought, but there he was. There was a purpose to serve, something was calling on him, a world away from him. Something had to be done.  
  
It was with a heavy heart a few days before, that he tendered his resignation to an astonished Minerva McGonagall. She didn't argue like she would've a few years before....that particular need for verbal sparring had died. She let him slip away, virtually unnoticed. And that's when he came here. His trunk was packed, the arrangements were made and he would be off as soon as the sun dipped beneath the waves.   
  
It was truly a sight to behold....the golden disc, starting to tinge with deep red, mingled with purple, the dark blue of the sea reflecting it's splendor. The beach was a dull, ashen grey in colour and contrasted with the beauty of of the sunset. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the figure down there, dancing, skipping at the waters' edge. He could make out the paleness of her skin, the hands holding up the hem of her dress as she twirled around and the faint, musical laughter reached his ears.   
  
She was the only person down there, and she knew it....but she was oblivious to the man who watched her, and silently wished for the freedom and happiness she had. 


	2. Ianthe

Disclaimer: Ianthe and her family and servants belong to me.  
A/N: I'm told I got the title wrong...anyone care to enlighten how it should be said? Forgive me, I'm only just learning latin now...I hope I haven't inadvertantly made Ianthe into a Mary Sue either.....if you have suggestions for her characterisation, I'm open to them, really. Constructive criticism is always welcome.  
  
Chapter One- St. Petersburg  
  
If there was one thing eighteen year old Ianthe Demidova had learned in her years at Durmstrang, it was that discretion would always win people over. So why had she let herself go that one evening on the English beach? Perhaps it was the sheer romanticism that had coursed through her veins when she danced across the water's edge, the beautiful sunset, the knowledge that she was alone.  
  
Ha! How wrong she had been in that. Her father, Vladimir, a tall, stern stick of a wizard with greying brown hair, had been, from the rocky shore, further along. He did not berate her, but his disapproval and disappointment was evident when she finally arrived back at the seaside cottage that her family and two servants were living in. They were hurriedly packing to return to their St. Petersburg mansion (after six years absence), and when she breezed in, they just watched her with reserved fascination for a fleeting moment, before continuing with their business.  
  
The one look he sent her as she came in, was enough to tell her to go to her mother at once. So, without much ceremony, she'd slipped into her mother's chambers.   
  
Olivia Selicic had met Vladmir Demidova when she was eighteen, three days before their marriage. In par with society at the time, it was a arranged marriage between their families, to solidify ties and continue the pureblood line. Ianthe got the impression that her mother might've been a stronger woman, had she not met her father. The photos from her youth suggested so. The willful expression, the determined grey eyes, full of steely resolve; even the fiery hair, charmed deep red so many times it became the natural colour. It all added to the theory in her mind.  
  
Instead, she'd become a shy, reserved, maybe even paranoid wife. Sickness consumed her frequently. A heart ailment inherited from her father meant that she was in a very delicate condition most of the time. Her parents' marriage was just like the air: thin and practically non-existant. It was a facade for society, and she knew it. She though, was the one link between them, an unbreakeable bond.  
"You're quiet this evening." remarked her mother in her faded Eastern European accent. Six years in England had that effect.  
Under her mother's scrutiny, Ianthe felt the blush rising in her cheeks. Her father had obviously said something of the beach incident.  
"I fear that perhaps this has come far too late, especially as you will be turning eighteen in a month," her mother began, leaning forward in her chair. "but your father believes that you are not aware of who you are now. What your purpose will be in future society. The effect you will have......on those around you by what you do. It is obvious by just looking at you, that certain....how shall I say, *physical* characteristics will be known."  
Ianthe shook her head, a gesture prompting her mother to not go on. She could see where this was going. Thank goodness that the family maid, Nerissa had made a point of explaining all *that* to her years ago. She could see her mother's evident shock, and that she was prepared to make a great long lecture of it, as she always did with things. She sincerely hoped Nerissa wouldn't be punished for sharing such things with her. But her mother's face was starting to show signs of great relief, and she sighed, softly.  
"You know of this?"  
"Yes....Nerissa explained it to me when I was twelve, Mother."  
"Oh. I was curious..."  
There was a silence, and then, conversation turned to other matters.  
"Are you looking forward to returning to St. Petersburg?"  
"Yes...I have missed being there. My classmates returning there when I came here...I will be happy to return."  
It was what her Mother wanted to hear. After all, it was her, who argued so arduously with her Father for them to return to Russia.  
Her Father's manservant, Nicholas entered the room with refreshments, causing them to look up.  
"Shall I open the curtains, Madam?"  
"Thankyou, Nicholas."   
There was a moment of silence, where her Mother regarded the man curiously  
"I wonder.....do you think Nicholas is handsome, Ianthe?" her mother wondered aloud.  
She turned and looked at the tall figure, reaching to open the drapes. His dark blonde hair was slicked back from his forehead, making the pale, thin face and the slim build even more apparent then before. She was astonished that her mother would ask such a question. To think of servants in such a way was unheard of, except of course, in the Mashikov family...  
"Do you think he left someone back in St. Petersburg?" her mother continued, as he bowed his way out of the room. Ianthe could not answer this either, but was saved by her mother replying to herself that he most likely didn't.  
There was another silence as the refreshments were consumed, and then Ianthe stood up to go to her own chambers.  
"Would you take the tray back to the kitchen for Nicholas please? I'm sure he would appreciate it."  
Ianthe nodded, and carefully taking the tray in her hands, began to move down the hall to the kitchen.  
  
Upon returning from the kitchen, she hears her father calling her name, and takes a detour to the study. It was his haven from the world, his own little world, of mahogany, brass, persian carpets and cigars, and despite the fact that all are already packed away in their boxes, the study still retained that spectre of formality about it.  
At that moment in time, he was seated behind his desk, perusing articles for a book he was writing. Her father was currently a book critic for the Daily Prophet, and when they returned to St. Petersburg, he would resume the same position for their paper.  
"We will be having a guest next week, Ianthe." he began, looking up from his work. "Professor Severus Snape, the former Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." he reached under his desk, and produced a nondescript-looking manuscript. "I would like you to read his essays on his potion-making and those that he treated."  
Even though she did not know it then, it was to be a significant moment. It was the first time she had heard his name.  
"He will be arriving at the mansion two days after our return. I expect you to have read the essays by then."  
"Of course, Father, but what of the author?"  
"He is the inventor of the cure for lycanthropy, and undoubtedly one of the finest alchemists in Europe. He has just retired his position at Hogwarts, and will be coming to St. Petersburg to work in the Alchemy ward at St. Gregory Nazianzus Hospital of Magical Maladies and Injuries. He's replacing my old friend....your Godfather, George."  
"That's right...he was to be going on long service leave for a year, right?"  
"Correct. He's to be staying with us for week or two, until a hotel is available."  
"How did you enjoy your walk on the beach this afternoon?" he asked, no malice evident in his voice.   
"Yes, I will miss this beach," she replied, but upon looking up, saw that her father had returned to his reading. His reading glasses were affixed over his eyes again, and it was a gesture of dismissal.  
  
Ianthe found her way out onto the balcony and silently mulled over the events of that afternoon . She perched herself in a chair and undid the top fastening of her black robe, letting the cool evening air wash over her. She rolled her sleeves up, examining the pale skin beneath the velvet. Looking out to the night sky, the stars scattered over the heavens, she sensed that something was going to happen, something she was eagerly awaiting, yet not knowing of. 


	3. St. Petersburg

A/N: Octavius Malfoy and Alexander Constantovitch belong to me. For other disclaimers, see the first two chapters You will notice I've altered the title slightly...Thankyou to the reviewer who pointed it out. Remember, don't hesitate to review, as I like to hear what you think of what I'm writing.....  
  
Chapter 2- St. Petersburg  
  
"That'll be 13 dashovs, Mr Snape."  
The Russian Knight Bus conductor, a short, wimpy fellow with an oversized nose and wearing a uniform obviously a size or two too big for him waited patiently while Severus produced the money. After helping him with his trunk, the bus left him, in front of Demidova House, his temporary home.  
  
Looking up at the gothic mansion, a part of him felt homesick for Hogwarts. Snap out of it, the voice in the back of his mind chided him. This is a new beginning, a new purpose....you should not be clinging to your past.  
  
As the words echoed through his mind, he picked up his bags and made his way up the steps. After pausing to savour the moment, his new beginning, he reached forward and knocked upon the tall doors to the mansion.  
  
************************  
"He's here! Nerissa, make the tea, please. Nicholas, answer the door, would you?"  
From her position at the top of the staircase, Ianthe could hear her Mother's footsteps across the wooden floorboards, her voice ringing through the halls. Then, her Father's voice in answer to it. More footsteps, and the sound of the front doors to the house opening. Yet more footsteps, and then a different voice. A voice strange to her ears.  
"Ianthe!"  
Her Father was calling her. Calling her down to meet their guest, the Professor. Not wishing to keep them waiting, she hurried down the staircase, to the front room.  
As she moved down the flight of stairs, the scene below her became visible. Her parents, standing close enough to touch, and the dark figure at the doorway. Her parents looked up as she crossed the room to where they stood.  
"Ianthe, I'd like you to meet Professor Severus Snape, our guest for a few days. Severus, this is my daughter, Ianthe."  
Severus nodded in acknowledgement, and extended a hand to her.  
  
As she shook his hand, Ianthe took the opportunity to examine him. He was surprisingly tall, certainly taller than her Father, by at least a head or two. Keeping in line with his height, he was, like her father, slender. She wouldn't even by surprised if he was a year or two younger than Vladimir. The face certainly looked it. Her eyes carefully examined the lines and contours on the pale skin, that suggested years of hard work, or maybe something else? His hair was inky black, brushing his shoulders, and unfortunately, rather greasy-looking. And his nose was a little too hooked, like the vampires that lived in the forests surrounding Durmstrang. But his eyes.....they redeemed the rest of his features. Dark and intelligent, and so obviously hiding a few secrets. Clearly, she thought, as she released his hand, there was more to this wizard than what the eyes and ears saw and heard. Not that she'd probably find out anything, though.....  
************************  
As she took his hand in a light handshake, he couldn't help but sweep his eyes over the girl's features. Nearly twenty years teaching at Hogwarts had done that to him. He needed to know the distinguishing features, something that would remind him of who the student was. He did not know her from Hogwarts, he guessed her to be a Durmstrang student considering where she lived. The first thing he noticed was her face. There was nothing terribly remarkable. Greyish blue eyes......long dark brown hair, neatly pinned up. The structure of her face was clearly a trait of her mother. It was decidedly angular and very delicate looking, almost like a porcelain doll, and with a similar complexion. He thought she looked rather intelligent, and made mental note to question her on her Potions-making abilities. This one could show potential, he thought, as they broke the handshake.  
************************  
"It is a pleasure, Miss Demidova." he said, a ghost of a smile fleeting across his features. She silently took heed of the voice. Deep and soft.....almost like velvet .  
"Yes, Professor." she replied, all of a sudden feeling slightly breathless.  
"Ianthe will be starting her final year at Durmstrang after the summer holidays. She was particularly interested in your essays." her father was saying.  
"Is that so?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers for the second time that day. "Well, I shall have to ask what you thought at dinner tonight, shan't I?"  
Ianthe nodded, trying to ignore the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.  
  
That afternoon, Ianthe read his essays. There were four essays in the manuscript. Not only famous for his cure for lycanthropy, which included, Professor Snape had also come up with what seemed to be antidotes for the Imperius and Cruciatus curses....ways in which the subject of the curse would not suffer the effects. And one known as the illusion potion...almost like the polyjuice. A potion that, when a sampling of human tissue was added, it could be poured out into the form of whoever's tissue was added. It was astonishing work. The style of writing was suitably formal, and he said little of who was involved. In the case of the lycanthropy, it was a werewolf by the name of Remus Lupin. With the counters to the curses, there was an assistant, Hermione Granger, a member of the class of nineteen-ninety-seven. The account of coming up with them was fascinating.....like a journal, it accounted the failures, frustrations, successes...... it gave depth and invaluable insight into his work.  
  
Seeing how much he knew about his work, Ianthe looked forward to the conversation that night.  
************************  
There would be other guests with them that weekend, the few acquaintances that her parents had. Alexander Constantovitch, the owner of a chain of bookstores in the Wizarding districts across Eastern Europe. And a writer on holiday by the name of Octavius Malfoy....she had heard the name Malfoy before, in social circles, and knew that theirs was a well-respected old wizarding family in Britain. That didn't stop her from hating his writing though. He obviously wrote for lovestruck witches...it was saccharine,woeful and not to her liking at all.  
  
But discretion was in order for that night. Dinner was served in the smaller of the two dining rooms, and Ianthe's favourite. She loved the intimacy of the smaller room, and the beautiful mirrored walls to give the impression of space. She looks around her, at the guests. Constantovitch, a short, heavily-built man with pure white whiskers and looking every inch an old bachelor in maroon robes with white pinstripes. Malfoy, unbelievably handsome with pale, almost silvery blonde hair and perfect, white teeth and the eyes...they almost looked violet. He must be incredibly vain, she mused. Beside him, her mother, in pale blue robes and an azalea in her hair chatted animatedly with Snape, slightly unusual behaviour for her.  
As the evening passed, Ianthe began to form opinions on the guests. Malfoy, whom she knew was here tonight to try and get her father to give his newest novel a good review, was clearly trying to compliment and please her father with his gestures, expressions and words. Grovelling fool, she thought. Quite the opposite was Constantovitch, who was remarkably gruff in what he said, undoubtedly witty in some cases, and unapologetic for what he said. Her Father obviously was enjoying his company.  
Her Father would occasionally look at her Mother in concern, touching her hand, whispering in her ear....she knew that she would retire early, such was her condition. These things were noticed by the mirrored walls. And it was then, in those mirrors, that she noticed that Severus Snape was not looking at her mother, or at any of the other guests for that matter, but at her. The look upon his face was indecipherable, almost of casual interest, or maybe curiosity.....she did not know. Under his constant gaze, Ianthe began to feel increasingly uncomfortable.  
She looked down at her plate and proceeded to play with the lamb on her plate. She sipped at the wine glass in front of her. And when she looked in the mirrors again, he was still looking at her, the face still fixed in the previous expression.  
"I have given Ianthe Severus' manuscript to read." stated her Father, who had noticed the unsettling attention that he was giving her.  
There was a long, uncomfortable silence as the guests and her parents looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something of it.  
Vladimir spoke again. "Have you looked at the manuscript yet, Ianthe?" he asked, a very faint note of urgency in his voice.  
She looked towards her parents and Snape. Daring to look each of them in the eyes.  
"I have read them, Professor, and I must say I enjoyed them to a great extent." she said finally, making her appreciation apparent.  
There was further silence, before the Professor spoke up.  
"Would you like to be a little specific, Miss Demidova?" he asked, eyes still firmly fixed upon her.  
"Your writing is very simple and formal, Professor, and yet you have included every struggle, frustration and achievement within it. It's emotional, without being so."  
"That's very observant of you." stated Constantovitch, looking at her appraisingly.  
"Yes, her tuition has been exceptional." noted Vladimir, pushing his empty plate away.  
"And where does she go?" asked Malfoy, deciding to put his bit in.  
"Durmstrang...."  
"Ah, my cousin graduated from there, four years ago. Perhaps you would know him, Professor? Draco Malfoy?"  
It was the first time that Ianthe had ever seen Snape look remotely sour.  
"Yes, I do recall him well." he murmured.  
Malfoy must not have noticed, as he continued speaking. "So, Professor, you start work at St. Gregori's on Monday?"  
"Yes. They want me to continue some work I've begun..."  
"Well, since Ianthe enjoyed your accounts of your potion-making so, would it be too much to allow her to accompany you once you're settled in?" asked Vladimir.  
"If the hospital permits it, I will oblige her." he replied, delicately running his index finger around the rim of his wine glass.  
Conversation continued on a few moments more, and Ianthe could only half-listen to her Mother and Father prattling on about trivial matters.  
"....photographers are coming tomorrow for our family portrait..."  
".....you gentlemen would like a glass of firewhiskey...shall we go out onto the balcony?"  
Ianthe sighed. The air was starting to feel a bit warm for her, so she decided to venture out for a short walk in the gardens.  
  
Night-time walks were one of Ianthe's favourite things to do. It allowed her to escape the veritable stuffiness of the household. As many friends she had at Durmstrang, she really felt the need to be alone on the Summer holidays, to attain some degree of peace. Particularly tonight. She could hear the noises from the mansion, despite the fact that all had retired now. The servants, cleaning with their wands, muttering charms.   
Indeed, she was so absorbed in her thoughts, that she did not feel the drop of water on her head. Or the next. Or the one after that. It wasn't until thunder sounded from above, and a downpour ensued that she realized she was in the midst of it. Already soaked, she ran up towards the back stairs of the balcony, only to find someone was sitting up there, waiting for her. Cold dread began to creep through her. Her Father had seen her! Slowly, she began to make her way up the stairs towards the tall figure, lit up from behind by the dim lights. As she neared the top, relief flooded her as she realized it was not her Father. Perhaps one of the guests...she paused and squinted in the dimness, trying to identify who was there.   
With practiced elegance, Severus Snape rose from his seat, and stood at the top of the stairs, holding his hand out. Ianthe reached forward and took it, as he guided her up the remainder of stairs and into the chair he was sitting in previously.  
"Your cloak is dripping." he stated.  
Ianthe looked down at the droplets coming from the heavy black material. She undid the clasp, and hung it over the back of the chair.  
"I told your Father that I thought you'd gone to bed......obviously I was mistaken. It is late, Miss Demidova. You should best be retiring."  
"Yes," she replied, finally feeling the cold wetness of the evening.  
"You're pale.....perhaps you should have something warm to drink?"  
"No," she replied a little too quickly. "I will just sit here a moment, and then I shall be fine."  
It was too late though, he'd already conjured up a warm cup of tea for her. She watched as he reached into his robes, and produced a small vial of dark red liquid. He poured a few drops of it into the tea, at which point it began steaming quite nicely.  
"Humour me, Miss Demidova. Take a sip."  
Tentatively, she took a sip. The warm liquid surged down her throat, and she immediately felt warmth creeping through every vein and bone in her body.  
"Why were you up?"  
"I like to walk in the gardens, Professor. It allows me to gather my thoughts."  
"Ah," came the soft reply. "You were very kind in your comments tonight, Miss Demidova. Perhaps too kind."  
"You most certainly deserved it, Professor. My Father tells me you're one of Europe's finest Alchemists."  
"The question is whether the wizarding public will accept it," he said, doubt tinging his words. "There is too little study of Potions in the modern wizarding world....it is fast growing into a rare art. More people must be willing to take it up. This journal of mine is my attempt to enlighten witches and wizards alike on it."  
"I see...." she said in return, permitting a small smile to him. "Well, as you say Professor, it is late. I must be retiring."  
She rose out of her chair, and in doing so, the clip holding her hair up slipped out, hitting the balcony with a small clatter. Snape bent to retrieve it, and handed it to her without much ceremony.  
"Thankyou." she said softly, taking it from him.  
"You are remarkably poised, Miss Demidova. You know, it is a rare thing for a witch your age."  
She looked at him, somewhat speechless for a moment, and then turned to go through the doors to the house. His voice stopped her again.  
"I saw you that evening, on the beach......I was there."  
She turned back to look at him, and yet once again lost for words, exited swiftly into the house, his words ringing in her mind. 


	4. Strangers in the Night

A/N: This has been late in coming....so sorry for that. I may revise this chapter a little, as I'm not entirely happy with it. What else...readers of my other story 'Redemption' will recognise a character in this chapter. And of course, please remember to review.  
  
Chapter 4- Strangers in the Night  
  
"Smile, Ianthe."  
Her Father's words jerked Ianthe out of her reverie. She sighed. Family portraits were a nightmare. Same thing every year. It was getting increasingly tedious, and Ianthe looked forward to the next year, when she would no longer be able to continue this tradition and break free.  
She looked at the camera, and their photographer, Mr. Ralova. He was smiling at her, his dirty tobacco-stained teeth quite evident. Also there was Snape, Malfoy and Constantovitch, watching with reserved interest. He was looking at her. Looking at her the very way he had last night.  
He suddenly held up a hand, and crossed over to Mr. Ralova.  
"You're posing her all wrong." he said, gesturing to Ianthe.  
"I've always posed her like this. I have been photographer of this family for 17 years. Are you challenging my judgement, Mr Snape?"  
"You're not taking advantage of the light. Have you looked at her bone structure?"  
In two strides, he was right beside her. He knelt down in front of her, and placed his index finger under her chin, lifting it up until she was looking into his eyes. For a short moment, she wondered if he would kiss her. But instead, he moved back, his hand sliding down her throat and away.  
Ianthe was left breathless by it. She wondered if anyone could see her blushing. She straightened her skirts nervously, plastering a calm smile on her face.  
"Perfect," she heard Snape murmur.  
The photographer, very grudgingly conceded that it looked better, and after taking the photos, went outside for a smoke, cursing under his breath in Russian. Her Mother and Father exited too, to make preparations for tea, leaving Ianthe and the Professor together. She stood up, straightening her robes needlessly. She felt as she did the night before, stripped of her senses in front of the older man.  
"Care to walk, Miss Demidova?"  
She looked up. He was right in front of her, with his bent arm extended.  
  
"Will you be doing anything else while you're working at St. Gregory's, Professor?"  
"The doctors there wish to have me on hand for treating the poisoned. The potions ward is particularly looking forward to my arrival." he said, staring ahead of the grassy path they trod. "It is amazing the effect that a particular liquid can have on one's physical and mental attributes, is it not?"  
"Y-Yes, Professor."  
"Would I surely be able to come with you to your work?"  
"If you are able to withstand some of the sights you will see, I see no reason for you not to come, Miss Demidova."  
As he continued to stare ahead, Ianthe permitted herself a lingering look at the man beside her. The expression, she was relieved to find, was no longer one of interest, but of deep thought and reflection.  
**************************  
The day that Ianthe accompanied Snape to St. Gregory's was incomprehensibly cold and miserable, even for a St. Petersburg summer. She felt silently disappointed that she and Snape had to walk in such weather. He didn't seem to mind, though.  
"It can be far more colder in Hogwarts. When you've lived in England your whole life, it becomes a part of you..." he stated, as they continued down the pavement.  
"Had you been at Hogwarts your whole life?"  
"Nearly. It was almost a home to me, and the Headmaster filled the role......that my Father could never. Perhaps that's why I chose to teach there, instead of becoming an apocathery like he did. What about you, Miss Demidova? Lived here your whole life?"  
"Aside from those six years in England, yes. Father wanted to be there during the conflict with he-who-must-not-be-named. He says the Russian ministry was being corrupted then."  
"You could say the same for our ministry though, Miss-"  
Ianthe could not take this formality anymore. "Call me Ianthe, Professor."  
"Ianthe, then." he corrected himself, as they approached the hospital, identified by the somber looking statue of the Saint that it was named for that stood in front.  
Ianthe waited patiently while he signed in at the front desk, and the followed him down the dimly-lit corridors as he questioned her.  
"Do you take healing classes at Durmstrang?"  
"Yes, they are available from the third year onwards. I hope to become a healer."  
"I see. And what of your potions expertise?"  
"I'm among the top ten in our year."  
"I have not underestimated your abilities then. I could use your help, Ianthe. Would you be willing?"  
"Yes, Professor." she said, and immediately mentally chastised herself for sounding so eager.  
"Well then," he said, as they stepped through the two swinging doors. "welcome to the Potions department."  
  
Ianthe looked around at the seemingly never-ending room, filled with beds, desks, and more cauldrons than she could count on her fingers. There were healers and doctors scattered through the room, brandishing clipboards, beakers, wands and a few tools that Ianthe could not positively identify.  
Snape left her for a moment, and returned with a white coat.  
"Here, put this on." he said, handing it to her. As she struggled to put it on, Snape glanced at the clipboard that he'd been handed.  
"Right." he said, finally. "We are fortunate. It is not a busy-"  
Suddenly, a cacophony of noise broke the otherwise tranquil room as a young woman stormed in, followed by several nervous-looking Doctors and apprentices.  
Ianthe stared at her. She was tall, with long black hair, a single white streak through it. And she very angry, and, also very pregnant.  
"Miss, you can't-"  
"WHERE IS HE?" she shouted, whirling around. Finally, her black eyes settled on Snape and she stomped over to him.  
"Sev, you bastard! Why didn't you tell me you were here?!" she yelled, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders.  
Several thoughts ran through Ianthe's mind in regards to the woman's identity. Wife? Girlfriend? Fiancee? Perhaps dumped by him? Jilted, even...  
"Livia, what a pleasant surprise." he said, calmly crossing his arms. "It has been many moons since I last saw you..."  
"Oh, shut up Sev." she replied. "Why didn't you write?"  
"Actually, I think the question is, my dear, why didn't *you* write?" he asked, gesturing to her pregnant belly.  
"It's not of importance, Sev."  
"Of course not! You're only about nine months pregnant! Does your Father know?"  
"He'll know in time."  
"You're breaking his heart, Livia. He hasn't seen you in ages. Lonely old man taking care of the mansion."  
Livia's face softened, visibly. "I'm sorry, Sev. Look, I promise I'll-ahhh!"   
She clutched at her stomach, sinking to the floor. "Sev! Merlin's beard...."  
Immediately, both Ianthe and Snape stooped down.  
"What's going on?"  
"Sev! I think I'm going into labour....."  
"Oh, Gods....Ianthe, give me a hand here." he said to her, and with their combined strength, they helped her up.  
"Tishkoff! Get a bed ready, and some birthing potions." he called out, and an older man nodded in response.  
Ianthe and Snape guided Livia to the bed, helping her up onto it.  
  
Several hours on, she was still in labour, and had Snape and Ianthe making increasing amounts of pain-reducing solution.  
"Severus! I think I see a head! Oh..." and Tishkoff, who'd been looking rather queasy the whole time, crumpled to the floor.  
"Someone get him out of the way." Snape thundered, and marched over to the bed, standing at the foot of it. He leaned forward to see the progress, and Ianthe felt compelled to turn away at such an intimate sight.  
Moments later though, a shrill cry broke through, and Ianthe spun around to see Snape cut an umbilical cord.  
"Congratulations," he said softly, wiping the blood off with a towel. "it's a boy."  
Livia, flushed with exhaustion and emotions, nodded mutely and burst into tears. Snape crossed over to her and put an arm around her shoulders, handing the child to her. "Gregori and Elizabeth would be so proud..."  
"Yes....thankyou, cousin."  
For some reason, Ianthe sighed relievedly. She was his cousin, not his significant other. Why she felt so relieved to hear this, not even she could explain...  
"Hey, girl!"  
Ianthe spun around and found Livia sitting up, regarding her carefully.  
  
"What's your name?"  
"Er....Ianthe. Ianthe Demidova."  
"Well come here and tell me about myself while my cousin here gives my son a wash. I am Olivia Snape, but you may call me Livia." she said, beckoning Ianthe over. Snape regarded her sourly, but she offed him with an equally sour look and he did as she said.  
"So, why are you here with my cousin? One of his conquests?"  
Ianthe blushed profusely. "O-Of course not!"  
Livia threw back her head and laughed, deep and throatily. "I kid you, girl. Cousin Severus wouldn't dare, I'm sure. For any girl or woman, for that matter."  
Ianthe couldn't bring herself to ask why and instead gave her answer to the earlier question. "I'm here to see how he works, you see...."  
"You are interested in the field of Potions? Good girl. The best of magic arts." she said, smiling. "I suppose you have heard of Severus' amazing prowess?"  
"Well, ye-"  
"Of course you would've! Severus is so good, I swear he has half of his concoctions running through his veins." another laugh. "Not to say that I wouldn't either, now...."  
"And what do you do, Mis-"  
"Livia, girl. Livia. I'm an apocathery here in St. Petersburg."  
Of course, Ianthe thought, as Snape returned, with the now-clean child in his black-sleeved arms.  
"Here is your son, Livia. The Doctors will move you to the maternity- "  
"Why can't I stay here? I want to hear about everything you've been up to."  
Ianthe heard him sigh. "I promise to visit you, Livia. Do you really think I'll give up the chance to see my new second cousin?"  
"Of course not, dear cousin." she said, as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I want to see Ianthe here too. If she is to take up the trade, than she shall need all the advice she can get."  
Severus nodded, looking from her to Ianthe with the faintest of smiles.  
  
The rest of the day, safe to say, was certainly less eventful. Ianthe met some of the poisoned, and saw Snape in his work. She assissted him without much hindrance. She wished that she didn't feel so uncomfortable around him. Eventually, she went outside for a short break.  
  
"What caused you to turn away, Ianthe?"  
He'd followed her. She looked away from him, embarrassed.  
"If you want to continue assisting me, I suggest you say so right now. Do you not have the stomach to watch life entering the world? Funny, as I think it is one of the greatest miracles."  
She turned to him, as his hand landed lightly upon her shoulder. "Childbirth is not something that should be regarded as scary. I have seen far worse sights in my lifetime" a flicker of pain crossed his features as he said so, and Ianthe mused over why as he continued.  
"It is something that happens regularly at St. Gregory's. Yes, it is painful, but nature has a way of making the beginnings of life painful, as you've seen with my dear cousin."  
There was silence for a moment, as she gathered her thoughts.  
"I'm sorry Professor-"  
His voice cut in, sharply, even a little desparately. "Severus, Ianthe. Call me Severus. I know you refer to me like that in your mind."  
I'm sorry........Severus, if I seemed weak. It was a wonder to be at childbirth, and truly, it is a great miracle." she said finally. "I will have to face up to the truth of how it works sooner or later. It is better to see the truth, isn't it?"  
The painful glance again. "Perhaps, Ianthe." he said softly. "Perhaps."  
  
**************************  
The walk back to her home was agonizingly quiet. She almost felt sorry that he'd have to go on to his hotel by himself. Perhaps it was her imagination, but he looked decidedly wistful under the pale yellow glow of the street lamps.  
  
They stopped in front of the stairs to the mansion.  
"I hope this was not too much for you today..." he murmured.  
"No, of course not." she replied a little too quickly.  
"There's something I must say, before you go. But only if you wish to hear it."  
She nodded in assent. She knew if she didn't, she'd be mulling over what might've been for several days afterwards.  
Snape cleared his throat, an unusually nervous sound for a man as unflappable as he.  
"I have not been able to....get you away from my thoughts since our first meeting. I know this should not have been said, considering who you are and who I am."  
Ianthe was overwhelmed by the need to hold him, all of a sudden. To feel what it was like to be against him. She saw his eyes look downward, and the deep sigh.  
"This cannot be, Ianthe."  
She nodded, still silent.  
"This moment is all we will have. Can you understand that?"  
"Yes, Severus."  
His eyes darted upward at the mention of his name. "I don't want to take advantage of you. I will be no good for you. Please say you understand that."  
"You are not taking advantage of me. You have not so much as..." she trailed off, remembering the morning of the photos and his elegant, lingering hand at her neck.  
"You see now, don't you?"  
"No!" she exclaimed loudly. "No, Severus. You have done me no harm, and I applaud you for it."  
His eyes met hers again. "Then you are not afraid of what could be?"  
"Certainly not." she replied, holding his gaze as he moved closer to her.  
She did not look away as his hands took possession of her elbows and guided her to him, taking her in a kiss. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced. She felt like she was reduced to water in his arms, that she would collapse at any moment. But also, that terrifying, wonderful notion that she could stay like this forever in his arms.  
  
But they pulled away, not wanting to attract attention or the lights in the windows above them.  
"It is late, Severus. I must be going..."  
"Of course."  
He bidded her good night formally, and she left, almost forgetting the momentary intimacy she and Snape had shared mere seconds before. 


End file.
